


Even at My Worst (I’m Best with You)

by bricoleur10



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: A lot of people have babies, A smidge of hurt/comfort because Rick's a turd for a second, Also fluff, Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Daryl accidentally high on painkillers, Epic declarations of love, Established relationship after the first chapter, First Meeting, Happy ending (and beginning and middle), Humor, If you're looking for angst you're in the wrong place, M/M, Massive time jumps between chapters, Rickyl Relationship - Freeform, Seriously it's a bunch of stories set in hospitals but it's not all that dramatic, Snarky boys, Teeth rotting fluff at certain points in fact, Well there's a little drama, You've been warned, but he makes it better, domestic crap, mentions of past childhood abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-25 11:25:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6193186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bricoleur10/pseuds/bricoleur10
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of snapshots detailing some of the most important moments of Rick and Daryl’s relationship. All of which, for some reason or another, seem to take place in hospitals. </p><p> <br/><i>“And, for the record, I know exactly what it feels like to get a phone call about you being hurt. Only when I get them it’s never, ‘Daryl’s in the hospital receiving proper medical care from licensed physicians with sterile instruments’. No, it’s always, ‘Daryl wrecked his bike, I’m sewing his shoulder back together bring tequila’ from your brother.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been on the backburner of my to-write list for a while, but last week I was literally right in the middle of writing something else and all of a sudden this thing demanded to be heard. So I banged it out in about three days (non-consecutively), in hopes of being able to go back to my regularly-scheduled writing once it was out of my system. Completely un-beta’d, so all mistakes are mine and mine alone.

***  
***

Daryl Dixon is no stranger to hospitals.

There are fourteen of them within a thirty-mile radius of the shack he shares with Merle, and he’s been to every single one of them. St. Mary’s the most, back when he was a kid. He hates that one because of the memories, and tries to avoid it as much as possible. Luckily, the shithole he and Merle live in (which is actually pretty nice compared to the literal shithole they’d grown up in) is a decent distance from St. Mary’s, and Daryl’s only been there once since his old man died. 

King County Medical Clinic is his favorite. It’s smaller than the always-crowded teaching hospital a few miles up the road, but since everyone likes that one better – just because they have prettier pictures on the walls and more horrendous fluorescent lighting – KCMC is never overly busy. The doctors are all competent enough, he supposes, but Daryl likes them because they never ask about his scars. Some stupid bitch did that once at Spooker Medical Center and Daryl had never gone back. 

Which is why, even though Spooker is closer, Daryl insists that Merle drive him to King County Medical Clinic the day he breaks his foot. 

“I don’t like that place, man,” Merle says for about the twelfth time during the car ride. His brother is driving slower than a little old lady in a rainstorm because he’s high as fuck and afraid that if a cop pulls him over they might be able to tell. 

Daryl takes a long swig from a bottle of Jack Daniels, purposely holding the container high so it’s visible out the window. Merle is completely oblivious to his brother’s actions, and he feels a little guilty about that but, hell, at least if they get pulled over he’d be able to get some fucking pain pills. His foot is contorted in such a way that glancing at it makes the youngest Dixon sort of queasy – which is really saying something, coming from a guy who regularly skins dead animals on his back porch. 

“I don’t,” Merle insists, even though Daryl hadn’t said anything. “They’re a buncha half-cocked hillbilly cocksuckers playin’ with medical equipment, little brother.” 

Daryl kind of misses Merle-on-heroin at times like these. Because, yeah, his brother has calmed down and cleaned up his act a lot since he’d kicked the heavier shit, but Merle-on-acid is less fun than he thought it would be. Because it _had_ been kind of been his idea. Well, it had been his idea to take acid. It had been a while since he’d played around with that shit, and Axel had sworn up and down that this was a good batch. But then, of course, Merle had strolled in three hours early and seen what they were doing. 

_“I’m hittin’ that, bro,”_ he’d insisted. _“Ain’t gonna drop me off the wagon none. Trust me, nuthin’ll go wrong.”_

Yeah, trust Merle. That always works out so fucking great. 

“ _You’re_ a half-cocked hillbilly asshole.” Daryl snaps, tossing the now-empty bottle of Jack into the backseat. “And if you don’t hurry the fuck up, playin’ with medical equipment is gonna be the last of your fucking concerns.” 

“Damn, Daraleena, chill out.” Merle tosses him a loopy grin. “Need’ta relax, little brother.” 

“You’ve been sittin’ at this stop sign for two minutes.” Daryl deadpans. 

Merle glances back up at the road. “Well I’ll be damned.” 

He really should have gotten Carol to drive him to the hospital. Hindsight is a fucking bitch. 

Once they get to the ER the receptionist takes one look at his foot and ushers him towards an examine room immediately, which is the fastest Daryl’s ever been treated at any medical center. Well, except for that one time he’d walked into Fairview Memorial holding his own severed finger in a McDonalds cup full of ice. 

“Where’re you assjacks takin’ my brother?” He hears Merle shouting as a cute orderly settles him into a wheelchair. 

“Do you need to talk to him?” The young man asks, tossing worried glances over his shoulder at Merle. 

“Nah,” Daryl relaxes into the wheelchair (way more comfortable than most others, another perk this place has going for it). “They’ll sedate him eventually. Actually might wanna tell someone he’s probably got some internal injuries.” 

“Uh,” Jake, according to his nametag, stutters a little. “I will.” 

With that, Daryl leans back and closes his eyes. 

***

He wakes up from surgery groggy, confused, and in pain. Familiar as he is with hospitals, he knows that the quickest way to remedy these conditions is by pressing the little call button on his bed. 

Fifteen minutes later he’s more alert, not at all confused (“They had to put five pins in your foot to set it. You’ll never be able to go through airport security without setting off the alarms.” The nurse tells him, as if Daryl’s ever going _fly_ anywhere.), and in the exact opposite of pain. 

“This is some fucking heavy shit.” He tells the lady-doctor who comes in to check on him some indeterminate amount of time later. 

“Well, your chart says you might have a high tolerance for painkillers.” She explains, hanging said chart on the foot of the bed and studying him carefully. “My name’s Denise. I’m actually a psychiatrist. They sent me down here to…monitor you.” 

She seems so unsure that it makes Daryl chuckle. “Ain’t no fuckin’ drug addict.” He tells her, still grinning at the ceiling. “Merle…I have a brother named Merle. He’s an asshole. He might be here, actually. Pretty sure he got hurt the same time I did, but less because he’s an asshole. Well, Merle, he likes to dick around. Not with real dicks, though, ‘cept his own, ‘cause he hates that. Not really hates it, ‘cause I dick around with dicks and he’s alright with that, ‘long as he don’t gotta see it. Fuck, maybe I’ll make him see it. Walk in on some dude sucking his baby brother’s dick. _That’d_ teach him. Y’know what I’m sayin’?”

Denise the head doctor is staring at him with comically wide eyes. “No.” 

“Merle lies and now I’m high.” Daryl chuckles. “Do’ya wanna know why?” 

The doctor-lady smiles a little. “You rhymed.” 

“It’s ‘cause Merle’s an asshole.” Daryl finishes. 

She pokes and prods a little more, but eventually decides that Daryl’s not in any immediate danger from the rather large quantity of drugs in his system. “We’ll just have to keep an eye on you.” She informs him. 

But then she leaves, and there are exactly zero eyes on him, not even another patient in the two-person room, and it takes all of sixteen seconds for Daryl to get _bored_. 

And because the youngest Dixon is really fucking used to doing things for himself, he manages to hook his IV onto the handle of a nearby wheelchair and, after some impressive maneuvering and a lot of upper body strength, is rolling himself out of his hospital room a few minutes later. 

***  
***

Rick Grimes never thought he’d be here. 

Well, not literally. Literally he’s been to this hospital before and wouldn’t be surprised if he wound up here again someday. He’s a cop, after all, and sometimes cops get hurt. Hell, he’d been here two years ago for a fractured collarbone. And once when he was eleven with a broken arm. And, most recently, he’d driven Shane here six or seven months back after he’d punched his best friend in the face hard enough to break his nose. 

So, no, _literally_ this hospital is almost familiar. 

Less literally, he never thought he’d be _here_ : stuck in the waiting room with his ex-partner pacing around like a recovering meth addict while his ex-wife gives birth to Rick’s child in a nearby room that both he and Shane have been banned from. 

“Will you _sit down_?” Rick finally snaps, drawing the attention of every single other person in the room. Rick flushes and lowers his voice. “You’re driving me crazy, man. It’s not even your kid. Why don’t you go home, and we’ll text you whether it’s a girl or a boy.” 

Shane glares at him. “I’m here for Lori.” 

“Lori kicked you out of the delivery room.” Rick half-shouts, deciding not to care about the other people around them, after all. Hell, it’s a maternity waiting room. They’re probably all bored, anyway. 

“Lori kicked _us_ out of the delivery room.” Shane counters. “I bet she wouldn’t mind if I went back in alone.” 

But as soon as Shane makes move towards the set of swinging doors, Rick jumps up and blocks his path. “Hell no, man.” He declares. “You are _not_ going to witness the birth of my child while I sit out here. If anyone’s going back in, it’s me.” 

Shane glares at him, but eventually backs off. “You need to calm down, Rick.” His former best friend says a few minutes later, his back against the wall next to a giant potted plant. 

“No I really don’t.” The other cop counters. 

“I’m sorry I fell in love with your wife, okay?” 

“Oh, you’re sorry.” Rick says, loudly mocking the words he’s heard countless times by now. “Oh, well that’s alright then, man. I mean, if you’re _sorry_.” 

“I can’t even tell what you’re more pissed about,” Shane keeps going, despite the clearest signs in the known universe that Rick has no interest in having this conversation right now. He keeps his voice much lower than Rick is managing. “That I’m fucking your wife or that I stopped fucking you.” 

“Y’know what –” Rick jumps up again. This time with every intention of breaking Shane’s nose a second time. 

“Easy there, buddy,” A large black man intercepts his rage, getting between him and Shane like he’s used to doing it. Maybe he is. He’s got the right build for a security guard or bouncer. “Maybe y’all wanna take this outside.” 

“Yeah, maybe I wanna take this outside.” Rick agrees. He’d stopped moving at the stranger’s intervention, but he’s still coiled tight enough to strike. 

Shane looks a little scared, but mostly exasperated. “Take a walk, man.” He says. Like all of a sudden _he’s_ the mature one of the two of them. Like Rick hadn’t been dragging his drunk ass out of bars every other weekend less than a year ago. 

“That’s a good idea.” The large man between him and his former…everything, agrees. Rick tries not to judge him for that. He, after all, doesn’t know the extent of the situation. 

“Fine,” he says eventually, running his hands through his way-too-long hair. It’s been a while since he’s gotten a trim. He needs to shave, too, come to think of it. “Fine.” 

And he walks away then, because at this point he just doesn’t know what else he _could_ do. Besides sucker punch Shane. Again. 

Right before he leaves the maternity ward, though, he grabs a nurse and tells him in the most authoritative voice he can muster up, “That guy over there in the Yankees t-shirt? He’s not allowed into Lori Grimes’ room under any circumstances.” He flashes his badge, because he’s past the point of caring about misuse of power. “If he shows you an ID like mine its fake. Do you understand me?” 

The young man nods solemnly. Rick kind of gets the feeling that this isn’t even the weirdest thing that’s happened to him tonight. 

***

Rick gets on the first elevator he sees, presses a button without looking at it, and gets off when the doors open. He doesn’t know what ward this is, refuses to look at the signs that might tell him, and keeps his head down in the hope that his nose alone will lead him to something resembling coffee.

Why don’t hospitals have bars in them? If he ran a hospital, it would have a fucking bar in it. There are chapels, after all. To each their own form of worship, right?

God, he needs a fucking drink. 

_Dear God_ , he thinks, playing off his last thought only a little sarcastically inside his own head, _I need something to save me from this_. 

About half a second later, because his head is still down and he’s not paying attention, he walks right into something incredibly solid. 

“Whoa,” he stumbles and looks up, immediately scanning the area and trying to figure out what had just happened. 

It takes him about ten seconds to process that he’d run right into the back of some guy’s wheelchair. Takes him another three or four to get to the other side of it and give the guy in question a long, hard look – because the last thing he needs today is to get sued by some random patient who’d fallen innocent victim to Rick’s single-minded speed walking. 

“Hey, cowboy,” said innocent patient is wearing a loopy grin and a hospital gown (of course), but what Rick really notices are the color of his eyes. And the little beauty mark he has right above his lip. The blue-eyed man is mimicking Rick’s intense, scrutinizing stare. “That probably woulda hurt like a bitch if I weren’t so doped up right now.” 

Rick laughs nervously. “Uh, are you okay?” He asks, because even though the man obviously _is_ , it’s the polite thing to say in this moment. Much more appropriate than _“I want to kiss you.”_

Rick shakes that off altogether, in fact, because yes, the guy in the wheelchair he’d just walked into is hot. Really, much hotter than anyone in a hospital gown and a bulky foot cast should be, but this is maybe the worst day in the history of ever for Rick to be thinking about random sex with a stranger. 

The guy in the wheelchair squints at him. “Are you a doctor?”

Rick glances down at the faded white t-shirt and jeans he’s wearing. Then back to the man. “Um, no.” 

“Oh, then yeah,” cast-guy’s face clears. “I’m fine.”

“Are you,” he looks around. There are doctors and nurses walking the halls, but none of them seem focused on the two of them. “Are you lost?” 

“Psht,” the stranger makes the noise with his whole face, his thin, kissable lips vibrating with it. “I don’t _get_ lost, Officer.” 

Rick blinks. “How did you know I was a cop?” 

The blue-eyed stranger laughs loudly. “Well ain’t that just some fuckin’ shit, man.” He shakes his head. “Here I am, runnin’ from the law, and the law done ran right into me.” 

Rick’s not sure what’s happening right now. He rubs the back of his neck. “Are you a criminal?” 

“Am I –” The guy cuts himself off, shaking his head. “Look here, Officer…Friendly.” He leers a little bit, and Rick can’t tell if it’s supposed to be a come-on or a glower. “I got nothin’ to say to you or your people. I don’t crack. Well.” He looks down at his foot – stretched out with the rest of his leg on the chair’s support. “ _That_ cracked.” He nods to the appendage. “But they uncracked it. See, that’s why this is my favorite hospital.” 

“Do you have a least favorite?” Rick doesn’t even know why he asks. He doesn’t really know why he does anything anymore, come to think of it. Maybe he’s the one who’s lost. 

“St. Mary’s in Woodbury,” The wheelchair-bound stranger answers immediately. “They’re shit eatin’ whale dicks over there. Don’t ever get hurt on that side’a town. Think there’s a chop-shop in the basement.” 

“Okay,” Rick agrees. While this man is obviously under the influence of something, the deputy-sheriff can’t help but be amused by him. “I’ll look into that.”

“Ain’t kiddin’, Officer.” The other man leans forward as much as he can in the chair. “Saw it once, long time ago. They cut up the corpses and put the parts in boxes. Then some jackhole with an eyepatch comes and gets them. I _saw_ it.” 

This guy is literally a walking definition of _unreliable witness_ , but Rick’s still making a mental note about what he’s saying. It wouldn’t hurt to follow up on the accusation, after all. Give him something to do while Shane makes himself cozy in Rick’s house with Rick’s baby and Rick’s wife. 

Shane’s always wanted his life. Now he has it. 

It makes Rick feel sick to his stomach, and _not_ because he misses Shane as a lover. 

“I mean it, man.” He presses, all intoxicated-seriousness. _This_ is why hospitals don’t have bars, Rick realizes. 

“I hear ya.” Rick insists, with as much sincerity as he would give any witness or man he wants to fuck. 

“Good.” He nods firmly. Then, “Oh, shit, here comes the head-lady. Pretend you’re a doctor, alright?”

“What –”

“Daryl,” A voice sounds behind him, firm and resolute. Rick turns to see a determined looking doctor walking their way. She stops in front of them and eyes Rick suspiciously, then moves on to paying attention to her patient. “How did you…You got out of surgery three hours ago.” 

Rick’s eyes widen. No wonder this man – Daryl, apparently – is so out of it. He feels guilty now, for not tracking down a member of the staff upon first bumping into him. 

Daryl tilts his head up and grins at the doctor. “I was _bored_.” 

Rick tries and fails to stifle a laugh. 

“And you are?” The doctor turns to him, and all of a sudden Rick feels about ten years old. 

“Uh, Rick Grimes. Ma’am.” He clears his throat. “I was just…I ran into… Daryl, was it? I was trying to get his name. To get a doctor or…something.” He trails off pathetically. 

“I was looking for Merle.” Daryl tells them both. “At first. Then I really wanted a fuckin’ Twinkie.” He eyes the vending machine that’s sitting right behind Rick. The cop feels guilty, because the other man had been so close. Then again, how had he been planning on paying for it? 

“No Twinkies,” the overprotective doctor lady sighs heavily. “And Merle is sedated. We really need to get you back down to recovery, Daryl, before you tear something.” 

“Would I _die_?” The other man asks seriously. “Because I haven’t yet.” 

“C’mon,” she insists, ignoring Daryl’s question. She gets behind him and starts pushing his wheelchair for him, despite his protests. “Let’s get you back in bed.” 

“No offence, pretty lady,” Rick hears Daryl say, before they turn the corner and leave his sight, “but you ain’t my type.” 

***

Lori’s still in labor five hours later. The doctors tell him and Shane that it’s perfectly normal – nothing to be concerned about at all. Her mom is in the room with her, coaching her through it. And while Rick and Shane have both popped in on her once or twice, she still insists that neither of them stay for more than a few minutes. 

And, since she’s the one pushing a human being out of her body, the doctors abide by her wishes. 

While Shane’s passed out in a chair in the waiting room, Rick decides to follow up on another matter. 

It takes four charming grins, three puppy-eyed pouts, and two flashes of his badge to get Daryl’s room number. He was one partridge in a pair tree away from dubbing himself the most persistent stalker of the century. 

The door to his room is open when Rick gets there, and before he even gets the chance to rap politely on the frame, the man in the bed is turning towards him. “Uh, hi,” he greets awkwardly. 

Daryl is eyeing him with open suspicion. He’s sitting propped up in the hospital bed, and turns the volume almost all the way down on the television as he watches Rick slowly approach him. “I brought you a Twinkie.” 

It’s maybe the most bizarre pickup line that’s ever been uttered in the history of the world, but it makes the man in the hospital bed smile a little bit, lips twitching upwards and taking that beauty mark with them. 

“Thanks, cowboy,” Daryl accepts the offered treat as soon as Rick is close enough to hand it to him. He wastes no time at all tearing open the packaging and shoving half of one in his mouth. 

“I like the chocolate covered ones better,” he says around his mouthful, and Rick doesn’t at all get turned on when the other man’s tongue darts out to lick away some stray cream filling that had gotten stuck to his lip. “Y’know, the ones that have a stupid name.” 

Rick has to think about it for a second, but eventually comes back with, “Chocodiles?” 

“Yeah, them.” Daryl nods. “Want one?” He offers the remaining snack cake to Rick, who shakes his head. 

“Had two already.” He explains. And then, with more hesitation, “I kinda…kinda wasn’t sure that you’d remember me.”

“Didn’t,” Daryl grunts, “‘til just now.” The injured man studies him closely for a moment. “But that beard is hard to forget.” 

Rick laughs, nervously running his hand across his chin. “Been meaning to shave.” 

“For what, the past month?” Daryl counters, but follows it up with a little chuckle that makes Rick’s stomach go and do all sorts of twisty things. “Nah, I like it.” He says. “Are you really a cop, though? Remember someone saying that.” 

“You did.” Rick tells him. “Which was kind of hilarious because I am. Or I was.” He scrubs at the back of his neck. “Been thinking about giving it up, actually.” 

“Have ya?” 

“Well, no.” Rick backpedals. “I mean yes. But only for the past couple hours. Might be the sleep deprivation talking.” 

“Never liked cops much,” Daryl says, though his words seem more detached than a judgement of Rick himself. “‘Course that’s ‘cause they’re usually trying to arrest me and shit.” 

“Do you break the law a lot?” Rick asks, because while he’s intrigued, he just can’t see Daryl as a hardened criminal. In reality he’s aware of the fact that he knows literally nothing about this man. He could be anyone. He _could_ be a criminal. Rick just doesn’t believe that. 

“Nah, not too much.” He smirks. “My brother used to a lot. And my daddy, back before he drank ‘imself to death. But your lot just don’t like movin’ on.”

“I…” Rick’s not sure where he wants to go from there, but Daryl cuts him off before he gets a chance to figure it out. 

“My last name’s Dixon.” 

Rick snaps his mouth shut. Then he licks his lips and says the only thing he can think of. “Oh.” 

The younger man snorts. “Yeah. Oh.” 

He really should have put that together when he’d heard Daryl say something about _Merle_ earlier. But, Rick’s been awake for thirty-one hours and counting, and it’s dulling his critical thinking skills a lot. 

“Well, your dad died long before I joined the force,” Rick hears himself saying, and Daryl’s eyes snap back up to meet his, glinting almost dangerously even around the haze of drug-induced calm. “And I think we’ve only brought your brother in once, the whole time I’ve been there. A couple years back, my partner picked him up for indecent exposure.” 

“Stupid asshole couldn’t keep his dick in his pants long enough to fuck the hooker in a goddamn hotel room.” Daryl shakes his head, looking plain annoyed at the memory. “Bailin’ him out cost half a damn paycheck and all the bastard did was bitch about how we didn’t have any good liquor in the house that week.” 

Rick wonders then what might have happened if he’d been at the station the morning Daryl had come to get Merle. What might have happened if the two of them had met years ago. Probably nothing, Rick thinks, because he’d been happily married back then. Well, mostly happily married. Well, married. 

“Don’t even know why I still live with that asshole.” Daryl’s saying now. The second Twinkie is long gone and the youngest Dixon is toying with the wrapper. “Y’know it’s his fucking fault _this_ happened.” He gestures to his foot. 

Rick’s demeanor instantly shifts; snapping into something focused and lethal. Protective. “Did he hurt you?” 

“Calm down, cowboy,” Daryl says, but it’s more soothing than insulted. “Damn you get riled up quick. They let you on the streets with a fuckin’ gun?” 

Rick takes a deep breath and shakes his head. “Sorry.” He says. 

“Merle ain’t never hurt me, man, not like that.” Daryl’s shaking his head exasperatedly. “No, I was trying to get the stupid fuck off the roof, wound up falling.” 

“Why was your brother on the roof?” Rick can’t help but ask. 

“Because he wanted to jump off it.” Daryl gives him a look like Rick’s the crazy one. 

“That’s…not normal.” 

Daryl chuckles, which Rick can’t deny he enjoys hearing. “He wasn’t trying to off himself or nothin’. He just thought the ground was made of Jell-O.” 

“Jell-O?” Rick repeats. 

“The purple kind.” Daryl specifies. “He also thought the ground was purple.” 

“I’m not gonna ask any follow up questions about that.” He says carefully, wondering exactly what combination of drugs had gone into that event but knowing that if he actually found out he’d have to go and do something about it. And he really doesn’t want Daryl to hate him. 

“What’s your name, anyway, man?” Daryl asks him after a few moments of content silence. “And fuck, sit down. Don’t like people hovering.” 

“Sorry,” He mutters, and finally takes a seat in the chair next to the hospital bed. “Rick Grimes.” 

Daryl tilts his head like he’s trying to figure something out. 

“My name,” the deputy-sheriff specifies. “It’s Rick Grimes.” 

“Rick Grimes.” Daryl repeats, rolling it around in his thick Southern accent, making Rick shiver a little. “And what’ve you been doin’ at this hospital all night, Rick Grimes?” He asks with a sweeping, intent gaze. “Don’t look hurt.” 

“No,” he agrees, and sighs deeply. “My wife is having a baby.” 

He might imagine the disappointment that flashes across Daryl’s face at that statement, or it might just be wishful thinking on his part. Either way, he quickly responds to Daryl’s quiet, “Hmm.” 

“My ex-wife.” He corrects. “We’re divorced.”

Daryl hums again, this time with a little more interest. “Good of ya to be here,” he says, and then clears his throat. “For the baby, I mean.” 

“Yeah, well, it’s still my kid.” Rick says. “I’m not backing out of being a father just because Lori’s fucking my best friend.” 

Daryl cringes. “That sucks, man.” 

“Ah, well,” Rick shrugs, playing at nonchalance and only realizing after a beat that this is the first time he’s ever talked about this and genuinely felt at ease about the whole situation. “I was fucking him, too, so I guess I don’t actually have too much room to complain.” 

Daryl’s eyebrows shoot straight up to his hairline. “You serious?” 

Rick drops his head between his shoulders and groans. “Y’know, I’ve been so fucking pissed at them for so long. Even demanded she get a paternity test. The whatever-you-call-it one that you can get before the baby’s born? ‘Cause I really thought it might not be mine. Is, though. And now she and _Shane_ are gonna live happily fuckin’ after in _my_ damn house. He’s gonna raise my kid, fuck my wife, and probably get a promotion before me because, yeah, we’re also partners on the force. And I’m just…I hate them both so much for doing this. But I’m a goddamn hypocrite because I was gonna do the same thing, wasn’t I?”

“So really, you’re pissed because your buddy Shane chose your wife over you?” 

Rick snaps his head up to looks at Daryl, who’s studying him thoughtfully, like Rick is a puzzle he’s trying to piece together. “ _No_ ,” he snaps, remembering what Shane had said in the waiting room just a few hours ago. Daryl’s watching him with that intense, scrutinizing expression, though, and the deputy-sheriff feels himself folding in a way that he’s never felt safe enough to around Shane. “Shit. Yeah, maybe.” He sighs. “Does that make me an asshole?” 

“Sounds like you got the short end of about three different straws.” He says, genuine sympathy in his tone. “I’d be pissed if I were you, too.” 

“Thank you,” Rick exclaims. “It sucks, right?” 

“Yes,” Daryl hedges, biting his lip. “But…”

“But?” Rick quirks an eyebrow. 

“What’s done is done.” The younger man shrugs. “Sounds like they both made their choice. You should probably work on gettin’ over that ‘fore you turn into a bitter old asshole.” 

Rick huffs, absolutely dumbfounded by Daryl’s words. He stares at the bed-ridden man for a long time, maybe full minutes or more. Daryl stares back; Rick doesn’t think he blinks once. Eventually the cop deflates, fluidly from one moment to the next like his whole body had been waiting for the cue. “You’re probably right.” 

Daryl makes that, “psht,” sound again, and readjusts himself a little on the bed. “You know I’m right, Rick.” 

He smiles at hearing his name fall casually from Daryl’s lips. His stomach does that fluttery thing again and rick does his best to ignore it. 

They sit in silence for a while after that, with Daryl mindlessly flipping through the limited TV channels available and Rick acting like he’s not studying the other man intently. 

Eventually he glances at his watch and realizes he’s been here for nearly an hour. “I better go check on Lori,” he says, standing up somewhat reluctantly. “And you probably need to get some more rest.” 

“Thought we decided you _ain’t_ a doctor.” Daryl huffs, but this time Rick knows he’s not imagining the disappointment in the other man’s eyes. 

“Look,” he says, sidestepping the awkwardness of the moment because this is something he wants. And Daryl had been right – he can’t stay bitter over Lori and Shane’s decisions for the rest of his life. “I wanna thank you for…y’know…listening to me bitch about everything. I think I needed this. To talk to someone who’s not involved. Who doesn’t know me.” 

“Glad to help, Officer,” Daryl tips his chin up at him. 

“I want to thank you for real.” Rick presses. “Like, take you out to dinner, maybe.” 

Daryl’s eyes immediately narrow. “I told you my last name, right?” 

Rick smiles and nods. “Daryl Dixon,” he recites. “I don’t care about that. I’m not gonna _judge you_ based on that.” 

“Well ain’t that a first.” The younger man snorts, but his disbelief is now tinged ever so slightly with hope. 

“I wish it wasn’t.” Rick says earnestly. “But yeah, if it is then yeah. What do you say?” 

“I say, you’re gonna have a newborn in a few hours and forget all about this.” Daryl’s shaking his head a little, but Rick doesn’t miss the grin. “But if ya don’t, then you know how to find me. Officer.” 

Rick smiles widely, knowing that this is the best he’s going to get from the other man and feeling content with it. “I’ll see you soon, Daryl Dixon. Count on it.” 

Rick can tell that Daryl doesn’t count on it. That, maybe he wants to believe Rick, but deep down he just _can’t_. It makes Rick sad, to see that level of distrust in a person. But, more than that, it makes him feel renewed and _determined_. “Count on it.” He repeats. 

“Go have a baby, Rick Grimes.” Daryl shoos him out of his room, and Rick goes. 

He heads back down to the maternity ward and actually gets to see his son being born (Shane doesn’t, because he’s still passed out in the waiting room, and that makes him feel a little better about everything, honestly). They name the baby Carl, after Rick’s grandfather. 

“You’re going to be in his life,” Lori tells him, hours later once her epidural has worn off. “You’re his father, Rick. _Not_ Shane. You. He’ll always know that. I promise.” 

That makes him feel even better. He knows it won’t be easy, but the three of them…they have to make this work. For Carl. 

A little while later Lori is asleep, Shane’s somewhere else, and Rick’s holding his son; looking down as his tiny, scrunched up face and feeling happier than he thought he ever would again. “Your life is gonna be kind of a mess, kid,” he tells the infant, speaking softly around the baby’s coos. “Yeah, but that’s alright, hey now, isn’t it? Yeah, it is. You got all of us. Weird as it is, I know you’ll always have all of us. That’s gotta be worth something, right?” 

For the first time in a long time, Rick starts imagining the future, a brand new world and what it might hold for him beyond Lori and Shane. Carl, he’s sure. And, just maybe, a man named Daryl Dixon. Everything is wide open for him now, and he’s going to make the best of it. He’s going to be happy.

Baby Carl reaches out an arm, instinctively grasping at the sound of his father’s voice. “Yeah, everything’s gonna be okay. It’s a whole new world, Carl. How do you like it so far?”


	2. Chapter 2

***

“You’re a fucking moron, y’know that?”

Rick cringes at the anger in his lover’s voice. Not exactly what he’d been hoping Daryl would say upon arriving at the hospital, honestly. 

“That sounds like a pretty biased opinion to me,” Rick quips around a gasp of pain. “Might wanna get someone in here who’d – _dammit_ that hurts – be more objective.” 

Daryl moves into the room and gets right in front of Rick, completely disregarding the guy who’s currently stitching his leg back together. “Excuse me, sir,” the young man says, “You’re going to have to back up a little bit.” 

Daryl glares at him so hard that Rick’s surprised he doesn’t wither away to nothing right on the spot. “Fuck, you even old enough to me a doctor?” His lover bites. “How old are you? Where did you go to school?”

“I’m a resident –” The man doesn’t get a chance to finish.

“You’re not even a real fucking doctor?” Daryl balks. “Fuck that, man. Get a guy with a degree in here. Right now.” 

Before the resident tries to argue with Daryl – or runs away in terror with half of Rick’s wound still unstitched, the deputy-sheriff decides it’s time to step in. “Calm down, Dare,” he says. When the younger man turns and directs his glare at him, Rick just rolls his eyes. “That doesn’t scare me anymore. Let Noah – this is Noah, by the way – do his job so I can go home.” 

“You’re not going home.” Daryl reacts to that almost violently, and begins to pace the small hospital room like a wild jungle cat caged against its will. “You got _shot_ , Rick. You have to stay here and…I dunno. Get observed or something.”

“It grazed my thigh.” Rick protests. “I’m fine.”

But Daryl’s just shaking his head. “Do you have any fuckin’ idea what it feels like to get a phone call sayin’ you got mother fuckin’ _shot_? It’s the worst – hey, what are you doin’?” He snaps mid-rant at the resident, who’d started working on Rick’s leg again at some point. “I said go get a real doctor. Damn.” 

“Keep going,” Rick instructs Noah, when the poor kid looks up at him with a desperate expression. “He’s fine.” To Daryl he says, “He knows what he’s doing. Which is a lot more than I can say about _Merle_. Who, by the way, was the last person to put stitches in _you_.” 

Daryl flushes. “That’s different.” 

“How in the hell is that different?” Rick snaps, letting his current pain level get the best of him. “And, for the record, I know _exactly_ what it feels like to get a phone call about you being hurt. Only when I get them it’s never, ‘Daryl’s in the hospital receiving proper medical care from licensed physicians with sterile instruments’. No, it’s always, ‘Daryl wrecked his bike, I’m sewing his shoulder back together bring tequila’ from your _brother_.” Rick takes a breath. 

“Merle _does_ know what he’s doin’,” Daryl grumbles. 

“No he _doesn’t_ ,” Rick bites. “Being forced to learn how to take care of injuries when you’re a _child_ does not make you a competent medical professional.” 

Rick knows he fucked up as soon as the words leave his mouth. Daryl stops pacing abruptly, staring at him with an expression that’s a little shock and enough hurt that Rick feels his whole stomach drop out from under him. “Dare…” 

“Fuck you, man,” He grunts, heading for the door immediately, because it’s still his instinct to run away from pain. “Glad you didn’t die. Call Glenn if you need a ride home.” 

“Daryl, wait,” Rick calls out, but his lover is gone. After a few seconds of staring forlornly after him, he looks down at Noah, who’s doing a great job pretending that he hadn’t heard a word of that. “You can judge me, if you want.” 

Noah glances up at him and offers a tight smile. The next few stiches go in a little rough, but Rick figures he deserves that. 

***  
***

Daryl’s beyond pissed when he gets home. Fucking raging. He wants to hit something hard enough to break it. Or break himself. He wants to feel something _shatter_. 

Merle’s not home, which is probably a good thing because if there’s one thing Dixons are way too good at it’s feeding off each other’s anger, and if his brother were here, with Daryl as riled up as he is, they’d probably would have wound up kicking the shit out of each other. Which might actually might be a good idea right now, because Daryl can’t think of anything else that would calm him down. 

Fuck Rick. 

Fuck Rick and his stupid fucking asshole dig about Merle and injuries and being forced to learn how to take care of themselves. 

Rick knows how that shit still gets to him sometimes. He _knows_. And he’d gone and used it like that because…because, what? He was hurt? Big fucking deal. That doesn’t give him the right to say something like that. Daryl had torn his shoulder open after a crash – the event that Rick had referenced earlier – and even though Rick _had_ been pissed, Daryl hadn’t attacked an openly sore subject to make his point. Hadn’t brought up Shane or Lori or anything else he knows for damn sure would have hurt Rick. 

No, Rick’s a fucking coward for stooping that low. For bringing up the abuse and how Merle had been forced to take care of him that way for so many years. 

Fuck. 

He goes into the kitchen and gets a bottle of beer out of the fridge. He downs the whole thing in three long pulls, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and then whips the empty bottle as hard as he can at the wall. It shatters on impact, which calms him down a little bit. 

He takes out a second beer and starts drinking that one much more slowly, as he goes about cleaning up the mess in the kitchen. The last thing he needs is for him or Merle to get cut on a stray piece of glass and start this whole fucking argument all over again. 

Fuck Rick. 

But also…fuck, he hadn’t even asked _how_ he’d gotten shot. Who had done it, or if they’re still a threat. Dammit. 

He’ll find out later, he supposes. When he goes over to Rick’s tomorrow to check up on him. Because, fucking Christ, of course he will. 

He’s still furious with the man for saying what he had, but he’s not about to ruin two fucking years together over something that Rick probably already feels like shit for saying. 

So, he’ll go over to Rick’s tomorrow, let his lover apologize, ask about the bullet wound that had started it all, and move the fuck on. Easy as that. 

He glances at the kitchen wall and notes that the force of the impact from the beer bottle had caused a crack in the plaster. He runs his finger along it and then, in a sudden flash of fury that honestly surprises him, snaps his arm back and slams his fist into it.

He pulls back with a wince once he catches his breath. A lot of plaster comes with him and there’s definitely a noticeable hole in the wall. His knuckles are bleeding, and he flexes the appendage a few times to make sure nothing’s broken. He feels stupid for letting his temper get the best of him, but the pain does dull the very last of his anger. 

Well, alright then. Easy as _that_. 

***  
***

“Are you sure you don’t want me to take you home, man?” Glenn asks again, right as they’re pulling up to the curb in front of Daryl’s. “If he was that pissed off, I don’t want you be stranded or anything if he kicks you out.” 

Glenn is a good friend; always worrying about the people he cares about. Rick smiles at him now, letting it settle over his features easily. “He might be pissed as hell,” he assures the younger man, “But he’d never put me in danger. Worst case scenario, he’ll lemme stay until I call you to come pick me back up.” 

Glenn nods, but is still biting his lip. “Are you sure? I know you always say that Daryl is, like, a giant softie underneath his exterior, but…I’ve never seen anything but the exterior, y’know?” 

Rick laughs a little. “Yeah, I know.” He says. “But trust me on this, alright? I’ll call you or Maggie if I need a ride back, I promise.” 

Glenn eventually relents, letting him get out of the car and hobble up Daryl’s driveway and onto his porch using the crutches the hospital had given him. He’d waved off his friend’s offers to help him with that, too. It’s not like the bullet had actually gone _through_ his leg, after all. Just taken a chunk out of the side of it. Basically a really bad scrape. 

Definitely not a good enough excuse for saying what he’d said to Daryl. 

Glenn doesn’t drive away until Daryl opens the front door. Which Rick actually appreciates a lot, because it only occurs to him as he’s standing there that Daryl might not have gone home in the wake of their fight. 

“Shit, man,” his lover exclaims when he opens the door and sees Rick standing there. “You’re a fucking moron, y’know that?” 

Which is exactly what he had said earlier, and Rick decides then and there to start the whole exchange over again. 

“Yeah, I am.” He says this time, ducking his head a little because he regrets what he’d said more than Daryl can possibly know. “I’m a moron and an asshole and you have every right to fucking hate me for what happened earlier.” 

“Forget about it,” Daryl grunts. Rick had been afraid of this response. Usually, when it comes to fighting with his boyfriend, it always goes one of two ways. Either Daryl will express his anger loudly, throwing his arms around and screaming a lot; or, he’ll do this. Completely shut down in the aftermath of being hurt. 

Over the years, Rick’s tried to find a middle ground; encouraged talking as way to resolve stuff, but Daryl’s just not a talk-it-out sort of guy. They don’t fight all that often, to be fair, and when they do Daryl usually opts for screaming as a method to deal with their issues. It’s loud, to be sure, but ultimately a lot healthier than this withdrawn thing the other man does from time to time. 

“Can I come in?” Rick asks, making sure to pitch his voice just the right level of pitiable. 

Daryl winces, glances over Rick’s shoulder to make sure Glenn is definitely gone, and then sighs. “Yeah, man, of course. Sit down before you fall down.” 

So Rick limps into the living room and immediately takes a seat on the couch with a relieved sigh. He sets the crutches next to him and thinks about asking whether or not Merle’s home. He decides not to, though, because Merle, after all, had been the start of everything that had gone wrong today. Besides, if the elder Dixon _were_ here, Rick probably would have heard him by now. 

“Can you sit down, too?” Rick asks. Daryl had shut the door behind him and is now just kind of hovering in the vicinity of the couch. 

“What are you doing here, Rick?” He asks instead. “You should be at home. Resting. Or at the hospital still.” The younger man narrows his gaze. “Did you leave AMA?”

“No,” Rick shakes his head, replying honestly. “They didn’t want me to stay. I told you, it’s just a graze.”

“What even happened, Rick?” Daryl asks, squaring his shoulders in that way he does when he’s feeling protective. “Who shot you?” 

“It was that drug bust I told you about last week.” The deputy-sheriff explains. 

“Thought that wasn’t supposed to go down ‘til next month.” Daryl counters. 

Rick shakes his head. “One of our informants got spooked. Had to do it today or we would’ve lost our window. I was gonna tell you, but everything happened fast. It went well, though.” Daryl snorts. “Really.” He presses. “Only two guys got shots off. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.” 

“Sometimes I really fucking hate that you’re a cop.” Daryl says it easily, like those words don’t mean absolutely everything to both of them. 

They’ve talked about this. Been talking about it since the day they met. Daryl’s always hated cops – never trusted them, because of what he’d gone through when he was a kid – and now, their relationship has reconstructed his negative opinions around the fear that one day something will happen and Rick won’t come home. 

Daryl knows him, though. Knows that it’s in Rick’s nature, his _blood_ , to help people. He’s never once asked Rick to quit. Never will, either. Every once in a while he’ll expresses his feelings about it, usually in moments like this, that are overloaded with emotion anyway, and Rick will always feel guilty. So guilty. Because he knows he’ll never be able to give it up. 

In all the years he’s been on the force, he’s only considered quitting once; the day Carl was born. And that had been more about Shane than anything else. Even back then he’d known he would never _actually_ quit. Transfer, maybe. Run away. But not quit. 

Ironically, it had been the words that Daryl had said to him that day that had made him decide to stick it out. 

“I know.” He says now, voice a wisp of guilt. And, maybe it’s the meds they gave him at the hospital or the fading adrenalin from the day, but he feels tears well up in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so goddamn sorry, baby.” 

“Don’t call me that,” Daryl huffs, but there’s no heat to it. He sits down next to Rick then. Right next to him, pressing their bodies together. 

Rick gives in to the silent offer quickly, shifting even closer to the other man and resting his head on his shoulder. “I didn’t mean it, what I said before. I was just…pissed off.”

Daryl makes a _humph_ sound under his breath, and reaches around to wrap his arm around Rick’s shoulders. “I get that.” 

“I know you an’ Merle had to take care of each other.” Rick goes on. “I didn’t mean to…I never should have brought that up. Not in a fight, not like that.” 

“You’re a goddamn moron,” Daryl says for the third time that day, but now the words fall with easy acceptance. “But, y’know, I punched a hole in the kitchen wall when I got home. So it ain’t like I’m perfect.” 

Rick raises his head at that. “Lemme see.” 

Daryl squints at him, “It’s by the fridge…”

“No, doofus, lemme see your hand.” 

“Oh.” Daryl removes his arm from Rick’s shoulders and holds out his hand for inspection. There’s a deep gouge in the middle knuckle and a few scrapes on the surrounding ones. There’s also a series of forming bruises discoloring the whole appendage. 

Rick presses against the marks softly. “Anything broken?” 

“Nah.” Daryl shakes his head.

“I wanna be mad at you for this,” Rick tells him evenly, catching his gaze and holding it. “But since it was my fault, I mostly just feel guilty.” 

“Ain’t your fault I can’t calm down ‘til I break somethin’,” Daryl shakes his head, and then shivers a little when Rick places a series of tender kisses all over his damaged hand. “Ain’t your fault you got shot.” He adds. “You’re a dick for what happened earlier, but I’m gonna forgive ya for it.” 

“Yeah?” Rick sniffles a little. “Is it ‘cause I’m a pathetic mess right now?” 

Daryl nods. “Yeah, mostly.” 

“I can live with that,” the cop chuckles; it’s a little watery, but sincere. “Can I stay here tonight?” 

The younger man leans back and pulls Rick with him until he’s trapped firmly, contently, in his lover’s hold. “Yeah,” Daryl breathes, and ghosts a kiss across Rick’s hairline. 

“Can I stay here until I’m allowed to go back to work?” 

“You wanna put up with Merle for that long when you can’t even run away from him?” Daryl asks, and mainly it’s a joke, but Rick hears the honest concern there. 

“I’ve been putting up with Merle for two years,” he responds. “If we haven’t killed each other yet, I don’t think we’re gonna.” 

“Hey, it’s your migraine,” Daryl eventually says. “If you wanna stay. Don’t come cryin’ to me when you can’t get that asshole to shut up.”

“Okay,” Rick agrees. He’s tired now, from everything that had happened today. He shamelessly buries himself in Daryl’s chest, sighing happily when the other man starts running a hand through his hair. “I love you, ya know that?” 

“You’ve said it once or twice.” 

Rick laughs. “Say you love me, too.” 

“I love you, too.” Daryl whispers. It’s not always easy for him to say the words. But sometimes Rick needs to hear them. He’s figured out, over time, that the best way to get what he wants from Daryl is to just ask for it. He’s so rarely denied anything by his lover. And, even though he’s parroting the sentiment, Rick knows without a shadow of a doubt that he means it. “Love you so much, Rick.” 

It’s a quiet declaration, but a firm one. It’s everything Rick needs to hear and more.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw a clip of an interview one time where Andrew Lincoln jokes about the writers piecing together a Shane/Rick love story in the first few seasons. Granted, this was in the middle of him and Norman talking about a Walking Dead parody porno, but still. Even he admits it was a thing. /as close to canon as you can get without actually being canon.

***   
***

Rick rolls his head against the back of the waiting room chair until he’s facing Daryl. “How long’s it been?”

And since Daryl doesn’t wear a watch, he picks up Rick’s left hand and glances at the face of the one he himself had bought the man about a year back. “Seven hours.” 

“We’ve been here seven hours?” Rick’s eyes go wide. 

“We’ve been here three.” Daryl corrects. “Maggie’s been in labor for seven. You’ve been whining for two.” 

“I’m not whining.” Rick insists. “I’m just…marveling at how long this can take.” 

“Weren’t you here for twenty-somethin’ hours when Carl was born?” 

The deputy-sheriff huffs. “That was a little different, seeing as it was _my_ kid. And I killed a lot of time that day, arguing with Shane, lying to nurses, …meeting you.” He flashes Daryl a charming grin.

The hunter can’t help the little smile that tugs at his lips. “Merle still blames himself for my’s fuckin’ a cop. Said I was so fucked up that day cause’a him and nothin’ woulda ever happened ‘tween us if I weren’t.” 

Rick chuckles, too. “I don’t believe that. Me’an you woulda happened one way or another.” He pauses. “The drugs did make it a lot easier, though.” 

Daryl pats his knee twice and then moves his hand away. Public displays of affection make him nervous, but sometimes with Rick he just can’t help himself. “You call Lori yet? Tell her you probably won’t be able to pick Carl up tomorrow?” 

“Yeah.” Rick nods. “She told me to send Maggie and Glenn her love. She and Tyreese will come by after the baby’s born. Carol and Morgan said they’d drop in tomorrow.” 

Daryl nods and shifts a little in his chair. He’s never been very good at sitting still, and pretty soon here he’s going to start getting antsy. He’s hoping he’ll be able to persuade Rick into some semi-public sex in an unoccupied hospital room later. 

“I got a call from Shane earlier today.” Rick says this a few minutes later, dropping it like rock in the middle of their comfortable silence. 

“What?” Daryl can’t help the way he gets when that asshole’s name comes up. He’d started his relationship with Rick knowing that he was just getting over the other man (and Lori, too, of course. Rick’s life had been an utter shit storm the day they’d met), and he’d tolerated a certain amount of preoccupation because of it. Shane had been the first man Rick had ever fallen in love with, and because he’d ultimately chosen him over his wife, Daryl has always been more jealous of him than Lori. 

Lori he gets. Lori will be in Rick’s life forever because of Carl, and he can’t fault her that. She and Rick are good friends now. Daryl, even, has grown rather fond of her ever since she’d kicked Shane to the curb and took up with Tyreese instead. Lori doesn’t get his blood boiling the way Shane fucking Walsh does. 

“Yeah, he called me.” Rick repeats, trying for casual but knowing all too well how Daryl feels about the man. “He and Andrea are getting married.” 

“Sure they fucking are,” He snorts. “‘Til he gets tired of playing it straight and runs back to you again.” 

“That happened once, Daryl.” Rick sighs heavily, obviously tired of this conversation. Daryl can’t blame him, really; they’ve had it enough times. But he also can’t help it. “Right after he and Lori split up. He was in a bad place and wanted something familiar. And I told him no. And if it happens again I’ll tell him no again.” 

The younger man starts chewing on the edge of his thumb, letting his gaze dart around to everything in the immediate vicinity that isn’t Rick. The waiting room is empty save the two of them and a girl behind the reception counter filing paperwork. 

“Hey,” Rick’s ducking his head down, trying to get Daryl to meet his gaze. “I know you trust me. It doesn’t bother you when anybody else flirts with me. Hell, I’m normally the one who gets jealous. Do you remember what happened with Jesus?” 

Daryl can’t help but smirk. “Well, he sure as shit won’t ever try’an kiss me with you in the room again.” 

Rick shakes his head, but is smiling, too. “He better not try to kiss you _ever_ ,” he growls, but it’s playfully. “But you…you’re never like that. Except with Shane.” His expression shifts into a serious one. Calm, but serious. “Is it just ‘cause I’ve known him for so long? Because we used to date?” 

Daryl’s been putting this conversation off for literal years at this point. They do their best to not talk about Shane – at least Daryl does – and mostly it works. When the bastard does come up, Daryl usually gets pissed and walks away before anything can really be _said_. 

He’d spent the first three years of their relationship scared shitless every time Rick had to go to his ex-wife’s house to pick up or drop off his son, so sure that one day he’d come back with more than Carl. That sooner or later he’d pick up right where he left off with Shane and Daryl would be left forgotten. It was only after Shane and Lori’s divorce, and Shane’s subsequent move to Atlanta, that Daryl had truly settled down in their relationship.

“Kinda,” he says now. Realizing then and there that this is going to happen. Here. With the two of them waiting for one of their best friends to give birth the same way Rick had been waiting for Carl to show up, in this very same hospital over six years ago, the night he’d accidently stumbled into Daryl and changed both of their lives forever. 

Rick nudges his knee lightly. “Kinda?” 

“It’s ‘cause you chose him, Rick.” Daryl finally says it, refusing to look at his lover as all the words he’s been holding onto for so long come spilling out. “You chose him over Lori. And she was having your _baby_.” Rick makes a sound at that, and though Daryl still won’t look, he can’t help but respond. “I ain’t judging you for that, Rick. Know you were always gonna be there for Carl, no matter what happened ‘tween the three’a you. Point is, Lori…it’s easier bein’ straight, y’know? You woulda had an easier life with her. And you loved her, I know ya did. And she’s the mother of your fucking _kid_ , Rick. All’a that…all of that and you still chose him.” He takes a few shallow breaths. “If you could pick him over her…what shot in hell do I got, if it comes right down to it?” 

“Daryl, look at me.” Rick demands as soon as he’s finished talking. But Daryl can’t look at him. Not right now. “Daryl…” his lover sounds desperate, pleading. He’s got one hand on Daryl’s thigh – can’t remember him putting it there, but its squeezing now, trying to get him to focus. “ _Daryl_.” 

Rick eventually moves. He stands up, and for one horrible second Daryl’s afraid he’s going to walk away. But he should have known better. Rick doesn’t walk away. Rick isn’t anything like him. Instead, he gets right in front of him and then crouches down. With one hand on either of Daryl’s knees, the cop ducks his head until he has no choice but to meet his heartfelt gaze. 

“God, Daryl,” the older man breathes, sounding more broken than Daryl thinks he’s ever heard him. “Why have you never told me that?” 

The hunter shrugs. “Wouldn’t’ve changed anything.” 

“Like fuck it wouldn’t have.” Rick says this so fiercely that Daryl’s eyes go wide. “If you need to hear me say that I would choose you over Shane, over _anybody_ , then I’ll say it. I’ll say it every single day for the rest of my life if that’s what it takes to get you to believe me.”

“Don’t need to hear it,” Daryl mutters, though the words had sounded nice. 

“I choose you.” Rick says it again anyway, reaching up with one hand to grip the side of Daryl’s neck. “I choose you always. Not Shane. Not Lori. Not that guy at Starbucks who always draws a heart on my cup and gives me extra whip cream. None of them mean a goddamn thing to me. Especially not Shane. Not like that. Not anymore. I _love_ you. I love _you_. And I’d pick you over anyone. Over anything. _Forever_.”

“I get it, man,” Daryl means for it to come out gruff, but there’s a chord of relief in his voice that he can’t quite get rid of. Then he places his hand over Rick’s, still hanging onto the side of his neck, and ruins the illusion of nonchalance entirely. 

“What I felt for Shane…that was like a shadow, Daryl. That’s what it feels like when I think back on it.” Rick tells him. “A shadow of what I feel for you. It’s like he was a puppet show and you’re a goddamn 3D IMAX with surround sound.” 

Daryl laughs, it’s a little strained, but honest. “You’re a fuckin’ dork.” 

“Do you get my point?”

“I told you I got it.” He reminds the other man. 

“I want to kiss you now.” 

Daryl looks around the still-empty waiting room and then back at his lover. “Okay.” 

Rick doesn’t waste a second. He stretches forward, still crouched as he is in front of Daryl, and kisses him. It’s not hard and rough, nor is it slow in tender. Rather, it falls into that middle ground of sensuality. A languidness mixed with focused intensity that’s always been the beginning song of their most intense sexual experiences. 

“Mhmm, can’t do that here.” Daryl pulls back enough to say. “’Less you’re willing to lemme fuck you somewhere in this building, you gotta stop.” 

Rick never teases him about the fact that while he’s willing – and often eager – to have sex in public places, kissing in front of anyone, even their friends, still makes him nervous. It’s a weird paradox that Daryl himself barely understands but that Rick seems to just _get_. 

“Maybe I am willing to do that.” Rick counters. 

Daryl smiles without trying to hide it. “Really?” 

“Yeah, why not?” Rick shrugs. “It’s gonna be a while before anyone else gets here, right? Might as well enjoy the time while we’ve got it.” 

“Well it’s better than listening to you whine.” 

He laughs at Rick’s overzealous objection to the words, and then helps the other man to his feet, as he’d been crouched down for a while and isn’t as young as he used to be. “I’ll make ya feel better.” Daryl promises, and Rick’s wince morphs into an eager grin. 

Thirteen hours later Maggie gives birth to a beautiful baby boy: Shawn Alexander Rhee. Daryl and Rick are the first non-family members to hold him. 

“God, I remember when Carl was this small,” the deputy-sheriff rocks the infant with a look of awe on his face. 

“Maybe you two oughta think about havin’ one’a your own,” Maggie says this, watching both of them with a dopey, happy, slightly dazed expression. 

Daryl feels himself freeze, and sees it when Rick does, too. “Neither of us got the right plumbing for that, lady,” he finds his voice first, and won’t look at his lover. 

“Yeah,” Rick echoes him, sounding forcibly firm. 

“M’kay,” she agrees easily, still mostly out of it from the drugs. “Gimme my baby back now, please.” 

Rick does, finally glancing at Daryl once Shawn is safely in his mother’s arms, with Glenn hovering protectively right behind them. Daryl doesn’t think he’s imagining the spark of want that had flared to life in his lover’s eyes at Maggie’s offhanded remark. 

That, however, is most definitely a conversation for a different day.


	4. Chapter 4

***

“Lori’s going to kill me.” Rick’s pacing the waiting room with an intensity that Daryl finds impressive. “Fuck, she’s actually going to kill me.”

“Relax, Rick,” the younger man demands, crossing his ankles where his legs are stretched out in front of him and lacing his hands together behind his head; the perfect picture of totally relaxed. “Kids fall down. It’s what they _do_.” 

“She’s only been on her honeymoon for two days,” Rick, despite Daryl’s words of comfort, keeps pacing. And running his hands nervously through his hair until it’s giant mess of curls, which, Daryl can’t help it if the sight of it like that turns him on. “How am I supposed to call her and tell her I broke our kid?” 

“Hey, when I was his age I fell out of tree once, too. I broke my arm in four places and still managed to _walk_ to the closest ER.” He shakes his head. “Carl broke his _wrist_ , and we got him here in under two minutes. He’ll be fine.”

“He’s never broken anything before.” Rick says. “What if it causes some kind of permeant damage?” 

“It won’t.” 

“Don’t say that like you know it’s true.” The older man snaps. “You…you don’t break right.” 

Daryl laughs. “What?” 

“You break six bones a year and never have any lasting damage.” Rick’s using the same tone he does when he’s actually angry at Daryl about something, but the hunter can’t bring himself to respond to it the way he usually does. Maybe because of the edge of hysteria in his voice. Or maybe just because what he’s saying is ridiculous. “You’ve got a finger that someone had to sew back on because you ripped it off riding a dirt bike on an ice rink.” 

“Knew I never shoulda told you that story.” 

“The day we met, you’d fallen off a second-story roof and somehow managed to only break your _foot_.” 

“But I broke it bad,” Daryl protests, and tries not to let his lover see that he’s holding back laughter. “Three pins in it.” 

Rick whirls in his direction. “ _Five_ pins in it.” He says incredulously. “You should know that.” 

“Why?” The younger man counters. “What’s it matter, so long as one of us does?”

“It’s _your_ medical history.” Rick waves one arm wildly in front of him – a habit he’s actually picked up from Daryl over the years. 

“And y’know what?” Daryl kicks his shin lightly with his boot. “All them broken bones and shit? They make for damn good stories. Think about it like that, huh? Your kid just got himself a story he’ll be tellin’ for the rest’a his life.” 

“Like you tell the story about the dirt bike?”

“Hey,” Daryl protests. “I tried’ta tell Carl about that last month. You said I wasn’t allowed to tell him any story that starts with ‘me’an Merle were high as fuck’ until he’s at least twenty-three.” 

“I shouldn’t _have_ to tell you that.” Rick all but shouts. 

Daryl laughs outright. “Hey, I’m not the one who thought building a treehouse in the backyard was a good idea.” 

“No, you’re the one who could have _actually built_ a treehouse in the backyard.” Rick argues. “And if you had, we wouldn’t be here right now.” 

“You’re not guiltin’ me into feelin’ bad about this, Rick,” he says, with just a hint of severity. “Your idea. Your treehouse. I told you I’d do it this weekend. If y’all couldn’t wait, that ain’t on me.” 

“Carl got excited.” Rick finally sits down then, on the chair next to Daryl. He drops his head in his hands and stays just like that. “I didn’t mean to blame you.” 

“I know.” 

“I’m scared.” 

“I know.” Daryl says again, reaching over this time to rub a little at Rick’s shoulders. “But he’s gonna be fine.”

“Yeah.” Rick sighs heavily. “Yeah, he will be.” 

“He’s a tough kid.” 

“He gets that from Lori.” 

Daryl huffs a small laugh. “I dunno, Officer, you’re one’a the toughest shits I know.” 

“I learned to be that way.” Rick protests. “Wasn’t when I was Carl’s age. Was scared of everything. The dark, shadows, clowns.” 

“Clowns are scary as shit.” The hunter says with conviction. Then, “I didn’t know that. That ya used to be a wuss.” 

“Hey.” 

“Your words, jackass,” Daryl points out. “Kinda wish we’d known each other way back then. Woulda taught you not to be afraid of the dark.”

“And I…” Rick stops himself mid-thought and shakes his head. Daryl rolls his eyes because he knows his lover well enough at this point to fill in the blanks without any guidance. 

“And you would’ve saved me from my whole shitty life.” He says simply, smirking a little when Rick finally lifts his head to look at him. “Yeah, I know.”

“I would’ve.” He says the words with impossible sincerity. 

“I know.” He repeats, softer this time. And then, before the moment grows any larger, Daryl glances up just in time to see a familiar face headed their way. He nudges Rick’s shoulder and nods towards the man. “Noah.” 

Rick’s on his feet immediately. “How’s Carl?” He demands once they’re in front of him. “Is he gonna be okay? What –”

The doctor (because he _is_ a doctor now, Daryl has to give him that), holds up a hand to stop the flood of questions. “Carl is just fine.” He says easily, and Daryl doesn’t even flinch when his lover sags against him right there in the middle of the crowded hallway, relief overwhelming him. 

“Thank god,” He turns briefly into Daryl’s shoulder, resting his forehead there and taking a breath before picking himself back up.

“He’ll be in a cast for the next twelve weeks, and will probably need a very minor amount of physical therapy after that,” Noah continues, “Just to reaffirm the muscle growth. But it was a clean break and kids are exceptionally resilient. I have no doubt that he’ll be at one hundred percent by the time he goes back to school this fall.” 

“Can we take him home now?” Daryl asks, because Rick is still catching his breath. 

“Of course.” The younger man nods. 

They follow Noah to Carl’s room, where the nine-year-old is sitting crossed-legged on the bed looking as bored as Daryl always feels when _he’s_ stuck in hospitals. His whole face lights up, though, when Rick and Daryl walk in. 

“Look, guys,” he holds up his broken wrist excitedly. “They gave me a green cast.” 

And the cast is, in fact, a very neon green. 

“My first cast was the same color.” Daryl tells him. 

Rick doesn’t waste time with words, just heads over to the bed and wraps his son in a massive bear hug. 

“ _Dad_ ,” Carl says, voice pitched perfectly in childish impatience. 

“Sorry,” Rick pulls away a little, but keeps his hands on Carl’s shoulders. “You scared me.” 

“I’m _fine_.” The boy rolls his eyes, but doesn’t try to get away from his father. He does, however, glance over his shoulder to Daryl, who’s still leaning against the doorframe. “Your first cast was green, too?” He asks, interest obviously piqued. 

“Mhmm,” Daryl nods. “Second one was red. Third was blue.” He glances up at the ceiling, trying to remember them in chronological order. “Fourth was a darker green, I think. I know I had a couple black ones. And the one they gave me the day you were born, that one was white. Which was boring, but I got to draw a lot of shit on it.” 

“Daryl.” Rick warns. 

“Stuff.” He corrects himself. “Drew a lotta stuff on it. Don’t swear. It’ll make your hair fall out.” 

But Carl isn’t paying attention to his profanity. Instead, he’s looking between both men with wide, curious eyes. “Daryl was there the day I was _born_?” 

Rick and Daryl share a look. Is it possible that in all these years, they’d never told Carl about the day they’d met? 

Apparently so, if the boy’s rapt fascination with Daryl’s off-handed comment is anything to go by. 

“Yeah, kiddo.” Rick starts talking. Daryl moves farther into the room and sits down on a chair near the bed. Just like Rick had done in Daryl’s room on the day that they’re talking about. “But not because you were being born. See, Daryl and I didn’t even know each other before then. And your mom…well, your mom was a little upset with me that day, so I didn’t get to be in the delivery room until the very end, when you were actually born.” 

“’Cause getting born takes a really fuc-frack-friggin’ long time.” Daryl adds, clearing his throat around the self-censoring. “Ask Aunt Maggie about it sometime.” 

Carl nods rapidly, totally absorbed in what they’re saying. 

“Anyway, I was just walking around, trying to kill time,” Rick goes on, “And out of nowhere I run into this guy in a wheelchair and –”

“Oh wait, hold up, man” Daryl interrupts suddenly. “I know why we ain’t ever told ‘im this story before.”

“Why?” 

“Well, technically it starts, ‘this one time me’an Merle were high –”

“On life.” Rick cuts him off with a hard glare, and then looks back at his son. “See, Daryl and his brother were…uh…” 

“Good luck with that, cowboy,” Daryl chuckles, putting his feet up on the bed and making Carl laugh. “This is what y’all get for coddlin’ the kid.” 

Rick stumbles his way through the rest of the story, editing out some pretty critical details and leaving Carl with a fair amount of doubt. 

That’s okay, though. They’ll tell him the whole story someday when he’s a little older. Rick says twenty-three, but Daryl’s thinking more like twelve. 

Maybe they’ll meet in the middle and settle on something like seventeen. They’ve gotten pretty good at compromise over the years, after all.


	5. Chapter 5

***  
*** 

Rosita doesn’t tell anyone she’s in labor until the very end.

Daryl gets a text from Abraham around two o’clock that afternoon which reads, _she’s been at it for fifteen hours. Almost time. Someone bring pancakes_. 

It’s a group text, so Rick knows, logically, that someone else is probably handling the food. That doesn’t stop him from making Daryl drop by Denny’s to grab a carry-out order. 

“What?” He asks his lover when he gets back in the car. “They’re the peanut butter ones.” 

Daryl eyes him suspiciously. “You got a box in there for me?” 

“We’re gonna be at the hospital for a while.” Rick points out. “We can stop on the way home, if you want.” 

“Yeah, that’s what I fuckin’ want.” Daryl grouches. “To spend three hours at a hospital making happy faces at someone else’s spawn and _then_ get pancakes.” 

“Hey, act then reward.” 

“I’m not a fuckin’ puppy.” Daryl barks. 

Rick tries to keep his grin to himself. “You know you adore Shawn. This one’s not gonna be any different.” 

“If it’s got red hair, I’m calling him Ron.” Daryl informs him. 

It only takes Rick a second to get the reference. “Carl conned you into watching the last two Harry Potter movies, didn’t he?” 

Daryl crosses his arms and looks out the window with a sour expression. “Your kid’s a fuckin’ lyin’ cheat.” 

“And who taught him how to play Black Jack when he was six?” Rick counters. “You have no one to blame but –”

“Lori?” Daryl cuts him off. “Thought we agreed to pin everything on Lori. Shrinks always blame the mother.” 

Rick laughs. “You’ve been hanging out with Denise too much.” 

“She’s the only one around here worth a damn at hunting.” 

“Hey,” the cop protests, but not with any honest conviction. Denise is one of Daryl’s best friends in the world. Has been for years now, since the day he and Rick had met, in fact. He can still recall the early days of their relationship – Daryl hesitantly telling him about the psychiatrist from the hospital who wanted to ‘talk to him about some stuff’, and how he hadn’t been okay with that, no matter how much it might help. 

Rick had reached out to Denise way back then, when he and Daryl had only known each other seven or eight months. He’d encouraged the young woman to peruse Daryl as a friend, rather than a patient. He’d just had feeling that it would work out better that way. And it had. The two of them click on several levels, and if Daryl gets free therapy as an added bonus to simple friendship…well, no one deserves it more than him, that’s for damn sure. 

“I love ya, Rick, but hunting ain’t your greatest strength,” Daryl tosses back. 

“Eh, that’s okay.” Rick shrugs easily. “You hunt it, you cook it, I’ll eat it.” 

Daryl makes an amused sound in the back of his throat. “You better hope I’m around when the world ends, sweetheart. Otherwise you’re gonna be _fucked_.” 

***

“Do you ever think about it?” Rick starts the conversation two hours later, while he and Daryl are waiting for the last of Rosita’s family to clear out before they go in and offer their congratulations. She has three brothers and two sisters, Rosita does, and the room just isn’t big enough for all of them at once. 

Maggie and Glenn had gone on a coffee run. Carol had taken Sophia and Shawn down to the gift shop. And Rick and Daryl are here; too lazy to walk all the way back to the waiting room, they’ve opted instead to sit across from one another on the hallway floor like displaced teenagers. 

“What? Havin’ a baby?” 

His heart skips a beat at the easy quality of his lover’s voice. It shouldn’t still surprise him, after all these years, that Daryl can read his mind. But he’s been thinking about this for a long time now, and had planned out all the different ways he might ease into the conversation. To have Daryl leap right in is unexpected, and he clears his throat nervously. 

“Yeah.” He nods, staring intently at a stray thread on the cuff of his shirt. “Do you? Think about it?” 

He forces himself to meet Daryl’s gaze then, because this conversation is four years in the making and deserves eye contact. But as soon as he gets it, Daryl’s taking it away again; focusing instead on a spot just left of Rick’s shoulder. 

“Sometimes.” He admits quietly after a few moments of silence. “Know you do.”

Rick nods again. Daryl isn’t giving him much to go on, and he wants to tread lightly. “Does that bother you?” 

“That you think about it? Nah.” The hunter shakes his head. “I get it, Rick. You’re a family guy.” 

Something about the way his lover says those words is telling, and Rick can read between the lines without even trying. “But you don’t think you are.” It’s not a question or an accusation. 

Daryl shuts his eyes and leans his head against the wall. “You know I love you.” 

“Yeah.” Rick assures him. Daryl’s gotten better about saying the words. Over time it’s become something of a second nature, a constant reassurance. “Of course I do.” 

“I’d do anything for you.” He goes on; and even though his tone is easy, there’s a tightness in his expression that speaks of pain. 

“I’m not asking you for anything.” 

Daryl’s head snaps back up, his eyes finding Rick’s face like a beacon in the dark. “What?” 

There’s enough honest confusion there that the older man understands immediately what had almost happened. “I’m not asking you to have a baby with me.” He repeats, keeping the words firm and simple, just the way Daryl likes them. 

“You’re not?” 

Rick shakes his head. He knows he could. He could ask Daryl for almost anything and get it, which is exactly why he won’t ask for this. 

“It’s not something I want, unless you want it, too.” He says, choosing his words carefully. “I wanna have a conversation, not a debate.” 

“Why now?” Daryl asks. 

Rick blows out a long breath. “Doesn’t have to be now.” He says. “Figure if we decide to do it, we might wanna get started before we’re too much older. But, it doesn’t have to be now. Or ever.” 

Daryl nods a few times, gnaws for a moment at the skin around his thumb, and then, “What would ya even…I mean, ya got a plan in mind? Adoption?” 

Rick smiles, because just asking these questions means that Daryl really has thought about this, too. And as something more than just a way to make Rick happy. “We could do that.” He says. “Or we could look into surrogacy.” 

His lover’s eyes narrow. “And who’d you want doin’ somethin’ like that for us?” He demands. “Maggie? Denise?” 

Rick shakes his head and swallows thickly. “I don’t know. We’d have to talk to them. Figure that out.” He pauses, notes the way Daryl’s shoulders have hunched up defensively. “Or we could use a stranger. A professional. People do that.” 

“We ain’t.” He snaps. 

When Rick’s eyes go wide, Daryl offers a small, tentative smile in apology. 

“Okay.” The older man agrees a few seconds later, once he’s gotten past the ferocity of Daryl’s declaration. “We wouldn’t.”

His lover is silent for a long time, full minutes or more. Eventually, right when Rick is beginning to think this conversation is over, at least for now, he breathes, “Carol.” 

“What?” Rick asks, not sure he’d heard correctly.

Daryl clears his throat. “If it’s…y’know, if it ever happens. If we decide…I’d want it…it’d have to be Carol.”

Rick’s heart is beating a staccato against his chest; excitement mulled with desire. He never thought he’d get this far this fast. “Okay.” 

“I trust her.” Daryl goes on, even though Rick hadn’t asked for an explanation. “I mean; I trust all of ‘em. But Carol…I just couldn’t do it with no one but her. Sure as shit don’t want no stranger in the mix. It’d haveta be Carol or adoption, Rick. I couldn’t do it…”

“Hey, I get it.” Rick insists when his lover trails off. “She’s been in your life longer than I have. She’s family. I _get_ it.” 

Daryl nods a few times but still looks nervous. 

“We’re not making any commitments here, Daryl.” Rick pitches his voice as soothing and calm as he possibly can without sounding like he’s placating the other man. “Just having a conversation.” 

The younger man’s responding glare could cut glass. “Don’t talk to me like I’m a traumatized fucking witness or some shit.” 

Rick cringes. Apparently he hadn’t gotten the infliction quite right. “Sorry.” 

Daryl huffs, but eventually relaxes. “You think about Carl? What he’d say ‘bout something like that?”

“Carl’s old enough to understand,” Rick assures. “I think he’d be happy for us.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He affirms, nodding confidently. “He’s a pretty well-adjusted kid. We did a good job with him.” 

“I didn’t –”

“Don’t even.” Rick cuts him off firmly. Daryl shuts his mouth immediately, because this is an argument they’ve had countless times, and one that Daryl never wins. “Lori and I both agree that you’re as much of a parent to him as she and I are. As Tyreese is. You _know_ that.” 

“I guess,” the hunter mutters. 

“You _know_.” Rick corrects, because there are some things too important to let slide. “You’ve been there for him through everything. You _are_ his parent. Having one of our own…it wouldn’t be that different. More, I guess. Full time. But not _different_.” 

“It’d be different for me, Rick.” Daryl takes a deep breath. “A fuck of a lot different if we had one…if we did it and it was…y’know, _mine_.” He meets Rick’s wide eyes and quickly glances away again. “Merle ain’t ever gonna have kids, and I kinda figured the Dixon name’d die with me.”

“Is that what you want?” Rick has his hands clenched against his thighs, holding his breath. 

Daryl shakes his head, but it’s not a denial. “The name, yeah. No question. But…I dunno. Been thinkin’ about it, here’an there, since Glenn and Maggie had Shawn. And I…my old man…he, he took…fuck, Rick.” 

The cop doesn’t waste a second moving across the hallway to sit next to Daryl; presses their bodies together as close as he can and twines their fingers firmly. “I get it, baby,” the older man whispers roughly, a few of the syllables getting caught in the back of his throat. “Your dad took so much from you – your whole childhood – but you don’t want him to take this.” 

Daryl snorts, but his eyes are shut tight and his grip on Rick’s hand is nearly painful. “Think _you’ve_ been hangin’ ‘round Denise too much.” 

Rick smiles tightly. “Maybe,” he agrees. “But she’s not wrong, if that’s what she’s been telling you, Daryl, she’s not wrong. You deserve…everything. You deserve absolutely everything. Including this.” 

Eventually Daryl opens his eyes again and turns towards Rick. There’s a lifetime of desire and pain reflecting just under the surface of those sapphire blue depths. A decade into their relationship and Rick still has to stop and catch his breath sometimes, when Daryl looks at him like that. 

“I don’t know if I can do it.” The younger man tells him, his voice small and vulnerable. 

“You don’t have to.” Rick reassures him immediately, striving to make his own expression belay all of the acceptance and love that’s in his heart. “We have so many options. And one of them is to do nothing. I love you. I love our life. It’s not like this is a deal-breaker, Daryl. Me’an you…that’s permanent.” 

“You don’t havta keep sayin’ that,” he protests weakly, using his thumb to trace patterns on the deputy-sheriff’s palm. “I get it, Rick, I do.” 

“Good.” He says evenly, firmly. Then, after some time passes and the moment doesn’t feel quite as intense anymore, he adds, “You should know, though, if we _do_ wind up having a kid, and it’s born before Carl’s fifteen, Maggie and Glenn’ll win the pool.” He flashes a lopsided grin at Daryl’s incredulous expression. “And they’ve already agreed to split it with us.” 

Before his lover has a chance to respond to that, the door to Rosita’s hospital room opens and her family begins a slow trickle out. Some of them don’t notice Daryl and Rick sitting on the floor, others do. And while the looks they receive range from friendly acceptance to outright disapproval, Daryl doesn’t once try to pull away from him. It makes Rick’s insides surge with pride and affection and _love_. 

A little while later, the two of them are hovering with Abe around the baby’s bassinet while Rosita sleeps soundly on the other side of the room. 

“That look red to you?” Daryl asks, gently caressing the soft wisps of hair atop the newborn’s head. 

“Maybe.” Abraham responds absently, still in awe at the reality of being a father. 

Rick catches Daryl’s eye and has to look away immediately to keep himself from snickering. Rosita and Abe wind of naming their son Brayden, but for the first six months of his life Daryl refuses to call him anything other than _Weasley_.


	6. Chapter 6

***  
***

“I don’t know if I can do this.”

It’s probably the tenth time Daryl’s said the words in the past sixteen hours, and Rick’s response hasn’t wavered once. “Yes you can. We can. It’s gonna be alright.” 

Daryl’s pacing the length of the maternity ward. Rick’s sitting calmly in one of the chairs, watching him. 

“What if I’m like my old man?” He snaps, irrationally annoyed by his lover’s nonchalant demeanor. “What if I turn into that bastard the second she’s born? You thought about that?” 

“You know you won’t.” Rick continues to assure. His own stress, which Daryl knows for a fact is there, bubbling right under the surface, taking a back seat for now. “We’ve had this conversation. We’ve had it together, and we’ve had it with Denise. We had it with that psychologist who didn’t know either of us. Merle…for Christ’s sake, _Merle_ doesn’t think you’re ever gonna do anything wrong by this kid. The only one still afraid about this is you. And I get it, Daryl, I really do, but you’re wrong.” 

“You have to promise me, Rick.” Daryl stops abruptly and fixes his lover with a resolved stare. “You have to fucking _promise me_ that if I ever do anything to hurt her you’ll take her away.” 

“Jesus Christ, Daryl.” The older man breathes, looking hurt beyond measure. 

“I mean it.” He refuses to back down on this. “I’d rather lose ya both than…I know you think you get it, Rick, but ya don’t. You _can’t_. I will not be responsible for making that little girl’s life hell. And it’s gonna be on you, man. If anything ever happens, it’s gonna be on _you_ to protect her.” 

“The way your mom couldn’t protect you and Merle?” He says it like a challenge, but Daryl just nods. 

“Yes.” He agrees firmly. “You’re tryin’ to piss me off to get me to drop this. But I ain’t gonna. Promise me, Rick.” 

The older man takes a series of deep breaths, probably counting to ten over and over again in his head until he feels calm enough to handle this. Daryl doesn’t care. In this moment, he honestly just doesn’t give a _fuck_ how difficult this is for the man he loves. He’d waited so long to bring this up because he’d known that Rick wouldn’t be able to deny him anything today. 

“I promise, Daryl.” Rick’s expression is firm, the glint in his eyes resolute. This is the same face he wears when he’s vowing to victims that he’ll bring the people who’d hurt them to justice. “I promise I’ll protect our daughter. No matter what.” 

Daryl doesn’t take his eyes off of his lover, doesn’t let him out of this moment. This is the most important promise Rick will ever make to him and he has to be sure, absolutely sure that Rick is telling the truth; that he’s willing to break Daryl’s heart in order to save their daughter’s. 

Rick doesn’t like saying these words, hates that Daryl’s still afraid of himself, but he’s also not lying. He doesn’t believe he’ll ever have to, but Daryl can read it in him that he’d be willing and able to keep this promise if the necessity ever arose. It calms him down in ways words can’t accurately express, knowing that, no matter what, their child will be spared the abuse Daryl had suffered at his father’s hands. 

“Good,” he breathes, finally letting Rick escape from the intensity of the moment. “That’s good.” 

“You’re a goddamn bastard,” his lover says, and it’s half-serious, half-resigned, but Daryl doesn’t care. He’d gotten what he needs. 

He figures, in the long run, it’s only fair. In twelve years of being together, he doesn’t think he’s ever denied Rick anything. It borders on unhealthy, how willing he is to do absolutely anything for this man. He doesn’t think his love for Rick outweighs Rick’s love for him, not really; it’s more a matter of being broken. Daryl is and Rick isn’t – and that alters, so fundamentally, how they handle themselves within the confines of a relationship. Rick had never taken advantage of Daryl, even though he easily could have so many times over the years. Because Rick is a kind man who loves him completely. But the dynamic between them is set in stone. 

This moment, this promise – besides being the last thing Daryl had needed in order to fully commit to the reality of having a child – balances things between them. Daryl would do anything for Rick, but Rick is now bound to do the most painful thing, should it ever come to that.

“I love you.” Daryl responds to his lover’s bitter declaration, and the honesty of his words catch them both off guard. “I’m not sorry. And I love you.” 

Rick takes a final deep breath, visibly exhaling his anger. “I love you, too. Always.” 

***  
***

Daryl can’t take his eyes off their daughter, even hours after she’s born. 

“Carol was a champ.” Rick reflects. The woman in question is in a separate room. They’d decided, the three of them together, that after the baby was born Carol’s contact with her would be limited for a while. To help her get used to thinking about the child as Rick and Daryl’s, and not her own. 

“Yeah,” his lover agrees absently, as he runs his fingers delicately over the newborn’s forehead. “She’s so tiny.” 

Rick smiles at the awe in Daryl’s voice. He understands it entirely, because even though this is his second time doing this it still feels like a miracle. Daryl’s sitting in a chair with the baby in his arms, Rick is sitting right next to him, a steady arm around his back. “We haven’t settled on a name.” 

Daryl’s making faces at their daughter; silly little expressions that her eyesight probably isn’t even good enough yet to see, but it makes Rick’s heart swell. 

“Still like Alex,” the hunter mutters, trying to stay quiet out of instinct, probably, because the baby is very much awake – settled comfortably into the crook of Daryl’s arm, quiet and content, but awake. 

Rick makes a face. “Nah, I don’t think she looks like an Alex.” 

Daryl hums noncommittedly. “You got something in mind?” 

The older man clears his throat. “Actually,” and the tenor of voice must be telling, because Daryl takes his eyes off their little girl for the first time since she’d come into this world, and looks at him instead. 

“Been holdin’ out on me, Rick?” He quirks an eyebrow. 

Rick bites his lip and smiles, unable to keep it at bay in this moment. Not wanting to. “When I was talking to Carl last night? He made a suggestion.”

“Let’s hear it.” 

“You remember his third grade teacher? The one who taught his whole class about same-sex marriage and almost got fired for it, after she found out that that Ron kid was bullying him because of us?” It’s easy for them to talk about it now, but back then that incident had very nearly ended them. Daryl had been so sure that removing himself from Rick and Carl’s life would be best for both of them, and it had taken a lot of pleading, and a fair few fights, to convince Daryl that preserving what they had was worth whatever risks may come. 

“Mrs. Mueller?” Daryl nods. “Of course.” 

“Her first name was Judith.” Rick clears his throat. “He asked if I thought that was a good name.”

“And what’d you say?” He asks, glancing back down at the bundle in his arms. 

“I told him I thought it was a good name. A fine name.” Rick shares. “But that you and I’d have to talk about it, first.” 

Daryl sticks his tongue out at the baby, jiggles her a little, and makes a cooing sound. Their little girl already has him completely wrapped around her finger, Rick thinks fondly. There’s no doubt in his mind – never has been – that Daryl will love this child and never hurt her, and that his fear of turning into his father is nothing more than a scar leftover from a tragic upbringing; a poignantly cruel one for how unfounded it is. 

“Suppose we can’t call her Li’l Ass-Kicker, huh?”

Rick chuckles at the unexpected words, causing their daughter to make a throaty whining sound and wiggle slightly in Daryl’s grasp. 

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he whispers to her, leaning over Daryl’s arm to brush the tip of his finger down her nose. “Daddy makes me laugh.”

Daryl’s eyes are shinning when he catches them. “What?” 

The younger man just shakes his head, but that little half-grin of his tells Rick everything he needs to know. He leans in just a little bit more, so he can press his forehead against his lover’s, creating a two-person shelter around their daughter. 

“Think Judith’s her name.” Daryl says a few moments later, both their gazes focused solely on the newest member of their family. “Hear that, Jude?” He says to her. “Yer daddies are willin’ to leave major life decisions in the hands of your twelve-year-old brother.” Rick laughs outright. Daryl flashes him a wide, playful grin. “That inspire confidence ‘bout the sorta life you’re gonna have?” 

“Ah, don’t listen to him.” Rick chimes in, nudging against Daryl slightly. “You’re gonna have the best life.” 

Daryl looks at him then, eyes bright with determination and love. “Damn straight she is.” 

He’s making the promise _for_ Judith, but it’s _to_ Rick; a declaration of intent for all the days left before them. 

Once upon a time Rick had been lost and drowning, searching for a salvation that he’d truly believed was beyond his reach. And then, like fairytale magic come to life, he’d found Daryl Dixon. Daryl had changed his whole world; turned it into something warm, and bright, and whole. A place he wants to raise his kids. 

“Don’t be a fuckin’ sap, Rick,” Daryl says suddenly, the edge of warning in his tone completely for show. 

Rick sniffs, and doesn’t try to hide the fact that there are tears in his eyes. Daryl knows him too well by now. “Don’t tell me what to do.” He responds instead, with a matching mock-seriousness. 

The younger man looks at him fondly. “I love you, y’know that?” 

“Had a feeling.” Rick smiles at him, every single one of his emotions betrayed. “I love you, too. In case you were wondering.”

He looks down at Judith again, eyes alight with wonder and an innocence that Rick’s never seen in him before. “Ya know, I really wasn’t.” 

It takes Rick a moment to piece the sentiment together, but once he does his heart swells: Daryl doesn’t have to wonder anymore. And Judith…Judith never will. “Well,” he clears his throat and brushes away the few tears that had managed to escape. “Imagine that.” 

**END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I warned y’all about the sap, right? Lol. These boys in love make my fucking heart melt. They turn me into goo. Actual, literal goo. My heart is made of Flubber because of these two, I swear to Jesus (and his pretty blue eyes. We needed a third set of those on this show, right?). 
> 
> I’d love to hear your final thoughts!

**Author's Note:**

> Original plot-bunny for this story came from…well, a few months back I was re-watching Friends on Netflix and The One Where Rachel Has a Baby got my muse all scintillated: specifically, the subplot where, while waiting for Rachel to, y’know, have a baby, Phoebe meets a guy with a broken leg and spends the episode flirting with him (or trying to). I thought, _Wow, I kinda really wanna make that a Rickyl story, but, nah, that’s too utterly ridiculous for this fandom. I can’t do that_. But my muse is a persistent little bitch so she took that and just ran with it. And now here we are. Let me know what y’all think! 
> 
> Title of the story, also, is taken from “I’ll Be There for You”, the Friend’s theme song. Because that seemed appropriate, given the inspiration.


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